


Oh Crap, Facing what we thought we could not

by Lunerwerewolf



Series: OH CRAP [3]
Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-03-25 09:03:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunerwerewolf/pseuds/Lunerwerewolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>7 years after the birth of his son Conrart has an accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

   
  
---  
  
**Oh Crap: Facing what we thought we could n** ot

OCOCOCOCOCOCOCOC

Conrart turned in his saddle at the commotion going on behind him. Men were shouting obscenities and one of the horses was rearing about half way down the line. He shifted his weight slightly in the saddle, halting his mount without bothering to use the reigns. "Control that animal soldier." He snapped, flushing slightly in embarrassment at the ridiculous of this situation.

It turned out Greta’s husband, Jonathan was in fact the illegitimate son of the former King Belar. His mother had fled across the sea to Shin Makoku’s boarder territories when the new King had started exterminating anyone who could challenge his claim to his uncle’s throne.

Jonathan and Greta had been wed a month prior to Ayden’s birth. The two had been happy together since and now had two small children of their own. They’d been lived in Covenant Castle with the rest of the Royal Family until about a year and a half ago when men had come from Big Shimeron after a desperate rebellion had broken out. Desperate for a new leader, the rebels had turned to the family the Belar’s had overthrown Centuries ago.

Conrart wanting nothing to do with a thrown that hadn’t belonged to his family in nearly 400 years, had agreed to help with the rebellion but had refused the thrown itself. As a result Jonathan had stunned their family by revealing his connection to the Balar line, and assumed the thrown.

Which was how they’d ended up in this idiotic situation. On a small mountain road with a misbehaving horse making a mockery out of Shin Makoku’s Calvary, in front of an entire troop of snickering Big Shimeron officers who were supposed to be acting as the envoy’s honor guard. Headed home after escorting Jonathan's Queen, daughter Annalisa, and newborn son safely to their new home. They'd stayed a few days to give Heika Yuri a little bit more time with his daughter and grandchildren.

Conrart grumbled to himself and tugged at the collar of his dress uniform. He hated formal clothing. They just got in the way. Sadly, lately circumstances kept throwing him into 'clothing better suiting his actual rank – and not his hard earned military rank. So today he was garbed in the least formal of the formal outfits he'd brought with him, at Wolfram's request and would remain thusly garbed until they passed back into Shin Makoku. As a result he was using the more subtle body language cues with his horse, rather the risk the hem of his ridiculously heavy cloak. Thankfully Shin Makoku’s war horses were trained to obey the slightest of cues.

Unfortunately one of the horses had been lost during a hunting accident just before they were due to leave. Jonathan had been kind enough to see that they had a replacement, but Big Shimeron's warhorses were known for their fierce temper and hard mouth. Shin Makoku warhorses on the other hand were known for their fierce and often deadly loyalty to their handlers. Ryan wasn't one of the best of riders in their platoon even on his normal warhorse, and this particular brown beast didn't seem too much like … anything really.

Conrart sighed, wondering if he was going to regret his actions, at the very least Yozak was not going to be happy when he found out. Conrart dismounted and motioned for his king and his men to move on, the men filed past him one at a time until Ryan drew abreast of him. He took the other man's reigns and gestured for him to take Kaze's.

"I'm the best rider out of the men here, you ride Kaze no dansā and I'll take this one until we're off this damned Cliffside." Conrart said simply as they exchanged horses. That done he mounted the admittedly huge beast, mindful of the hem of his dress-cloak and carefully made his way up to the front of the line, it didn't take him long to reach Yuri's side and he deftly positioned the fidgety horse in front of his kings mount. Idly he wondered just how Günter managed his cloak on a daily basis, he still felt like he was in imminent danger of suffocation as a result of getting the damned thing tangled in something.

After thirty eventful minutes, his back hurt, and his thigh muscles were beginning to make their discontent felt, and his rear end … was going to be bruised in the morning. He was actually getting saddle soar! To make matters worse, he was beginning to feel nauseated, and it had nothing to do with his pregnancy. Cursing quietly under his breath, he viciously threatened to geld the damned stallion as soon as they made camp for the night.

He wasn't normally this short tempered with the horses, but being 3 months pregnant would make anyone irritable. It had taken nearly seven years for him to conceive again – and was beginning to think it would be better on his back if he walked home. Still he couldn't help but smile at the thought of the look on Yozak's face when he told him. He hadn’t shared his news with anyone yet. Yozak deserved to be the first to know this time.

Then it happened –

a leaf fluttered by, stem scraping the ground and stirring up minimal dust in its wake. The stallion reared, ears flat agents his skull as he screamed in outrage, dancing to his left, bucking wildly. Conrart swore, dropped the reigns and clung to the saddle horn, fighting desperately to stay in his seat as the damned beast went berserk; spooking the entire formation and generally making a nascence of himself. Conrart’s cursing became more… inventive, as the beast reared again, hooves flailing, and hopped backwards his hind hooves scrapped the rocky precipice and sent pebbles careening down the cliff face.

The stallion came down hard, onto all fours , sides heaving. For his part Conrart clung to the horse, eyes wide with alarm. It had been a very long time since he'd had a ride like that! His back was not happy, for that matter, neither were his men – if the muttered curses were any indication. He distinctly heard Wolfram muttering about 'glue'.

At the moment he agreed.

He'd only just managed to calm his racing heart when, a rather loud and distinctive cracking noise rang out and the rock under the stallion's hind hooves shifted lower. Conrart froze, his eyes going wide again as the truly stupid stallion reared up placing all of his weight onto his hind legs. He had just a second to comprehend how bad the situation was before –

The earth gave way beneath them.

The world lurched as he tried desperately to free himself as they fell.

Terror gripped him when he realized his foot was caught in the stirrup and he couldn't get his boot free.

The world spun, he could hear screaming but he couldn't tell if the screaming came from his men or his own throat. He tried desperately to free his foot. He stood a better chance of surviving if he wasn't connected to the horse. He grabbed for his sword, if he couldn't free his foot from the hard metal stirrup, then he'd just have to sever the stirrup leather – hopefully he wouldn't cut off his foot by accident.

His world flared with agony as his relatively thin, largely ornamental sword belt snagged on a sharp rock, and the stirrup leather snapped taunt as the horse continued to fall. His sword was smashed between him and the rock and idly he wondered what would give first – his damned ornamental belt, the thick leather of the idiotically heavy saddle or his ankle.

His question was answered in one agonizing second; a sickening crack announced the snapping of his ankle a split second before his belt broke under the strain. He only just had the sense to hold on to his sword as he and the horse continued their tumble down the Cliffside. Despite the pain, he tried to free his ankle. However it was no use, his boot was thoroughly trapped in the stirrup; which meant despite the pain, he'd have to pull his foot free of his boot.

The endeavor was agonizing

But he managed it.

In a single, less then dignified frantic movement he stripped the sword of its sheath and after flinging the currently useless leather away, drove the sword point into the ground in a desperate attempt to slow his head long rapid decent. The muscles in his arms burned as he fought to hold on as momentum pitched him into something akin to a flip and he slammed back first into the unforgiving rock.

He smacked the back of his head on a rock as he tumbled down the Cliffside, and his world went briefly black. He came to in a terrifying tangle of cloak as he continued to tumble down the Cliffside. He screamed in shocked terror when he plunged into the unforgiving cold waters of the river that ran at the base of the cliff. He fought desperately to free himself from his tangled cloak, the wool and velvet growing steadily heavier as the water soaked into it despite its expensive waterproofing treatment.

Managed to free himself from the volumes folds and fought his way to the surface, the cloak threatening to drag him back down. He broke the surface and gasped for air as the current pulled him steadily downstream. He needed to ditch the cloak, before it drowned him. He reached up and started to untie the laces that clasped the thing closed, but the waterlogged laces refused to budge. The damned cloak caught on something before he could get the water logged laces undone, and the next thing he knew he was underwater again. After a few terrifying seconds that felt like a lifetime he managed to yank the cloak free, shredding the hem in the process. If he got out of this alive he was so never wearing one again!

He fought his way to the surface again.

He never saw the log, before it hit him sending him back below the surface, and his world went black again for the second time that day.

OCOCOCOCOCOC

Yuri sat quietly in his horse's saddle, watching as his escort broke camp. It had been three days since Conrart's accident. They'd found the horse, dead of a broken neck with Conrart's boot still stuck in the stirrup. His sword belt and sheath had been in the river, the sword itself had been found about 20 meters up the cliff face, the tip wedged between two large stones as if Conrart had tried to use the sword to slow his decent. They'd also found a trail of broken undergrowth, mixed with a lot of blood that led down to the river.

They'd searched the river a day and a half ride down stream and found nothing. Finally after three days Wolfram had given voice to what they all knew 'Lord Conrart Weller, the Lion of Luttenburg' was gone and there was nothing any of them could do to change that. They'd spent the night after that statement calling out to the great one and imploring him to lead the spirit of a Mazoku soldier would fallen in human territories home to the Mazoku version of the afterlife. Then after the sun rose they'd started to break camp.

When the last of the men had mounted, they turned and headed for home and Yuri couldn't help wondering just how he was going to break the news to Yozak and his beloved nephew – was Ayden even old enough to understand that his mother was never coming home? The boy was seven, but that translated to about three. Regardless Yuri did not envy Yozak the task of explaining this loss to his son.

The brightly colored wagons of a band of traveling trade-folk caught his eye but it seemed so very out of place with the rest of his currently very grey world.

OCOCOCOCOCOCOC

Yozak smiled as he chased his young son and niece around the palace courtyard pretending to be the 'infamous tickle monster' to the delighted squeals of the children. He could have easily caught them both but it was by far more entertaining to let the children 'escape the monster'. He knew from experience that they'd either keep right on running or turn around and 'attack the scary monster' together. Either way they'd tire themselves out enough to take their naps without protest.

Of course that was assuming he didn't drop from exhaustion first.

He paused and caught his breath when the sound of a lot of hooves rang across the courtyard. The sound of that many approaching hooves could mean only one thing, Yuri and his entourage had returned, and that meant Conrart was finally home. Not that he didn't love his King and his brother-in-law, but it had been far too long since he'd been able to look into Conrart's beautiful liquid brown eyes. Next to three and a half months of an empty bed, Yuri's return seemed wholly unimportant beyond the fact that his return brought Conrart home to him.

He froze the smile falling from his face as the first of the men rode into the courtyard, bearing with them banners in the deep purple of Mourning. His eyes franticly searched through the ranks of men and he felt only a mild sense of relief when his eyes landed on Heika Yuri and Wolfram. Then his eyes landed on the rider less horse, tethered to Yuri's saddle. The Animal was adorned in the deep purple Trapper*.

He would recognize Conrart's horse anywhere!

He'd constantly teased Conrart about the Animal's perfectly symmetrical blaze and four perfect coronets*2. Only Conrart would have a war horse that looked as if he spent hours in grooming naturally. Not a single hair out of place just like Conrart himself.

He very nearly fainted at the sight of his beloved husband's horse draped in mourning colors. He held himself erect through the expenditure of more self control then he knew he had, and franticly searched every face for Conrart, his heart screaming at him that this could not be true.

"Yozak," Yuri's voice was gentle but firm and he gulped before slowly, hesitantly heading over to his king.

The younger man dismounted and wordlessly held out Kaze no dansā's reigns.

Yozak carefully petted the animal's nose, trying desperately to hold back tears – he'd always teased Conrart about the mouthful that was the animal's name. Apparently it meant 'wind dancer', which really did suit the animal. Briefly Yozak wondered if he had lost his mind. Conrart was supposedly gone (he still couldn't wrap his mind around that bit of information despite the fact that Yuri had just gently verbalized it) and he was contemplating the ridiculous name Conrart had given his horse and waiting for the other man to pop up and tell him this was all just some sick joke.

Conrart had died riding a Big Shimeron beast that one of his men couldn't control?

No they were wrong!

They just hadn't looked hard enough!

He shuddered at the feeling of Gwendal's strong hands on his shoulders and wondered just when his knees had buckled.

OCOCOCOCOCOCOC

Milo sighed as he walked into his mother's wagon, the old woman sat quietly on a stool tending to her patient.

"How is he?" he asked mildly, as he gazed down at the bandaged young man asleep on one of the few spare cots in the healer's wagon. He couldn't help thinking that the boy was a year or two younger than his own son Philip. "It's been two weeks has he awoken yet?"

"No," his mother replied softly. "His sleep is uneasy, he keeps calling out." She shook her head, I wish I knew how long he'd been in that river and how he got there in the first place. He's pretty banged up. I can't help wondering if he fell down the cliff side."

"If he did, then he is luckier than we thought." Milo replied softly. "Was there anything in his belongings that might tell us who he is?"

Maria rose to her feet and crossed the small room, the young man's clothing was folded on a small table – despite the fact that they were ripped and torn. "Only this," she replied softly holding up a small gold necklace shaped like an oval. "Philip took it off him when he pulled him out of the river. Boy planned to sell it in the next village." She shook her head, and handed him the necklace. "Honestly I don't know where we went wrong with that boy."

"What am I going to do with him," he said sadly. He was about to ask how the necklace would be helpful in identifying the boy when he realized it had a small hinge. He looked the thing over. The front had an engraved rampant lion and there were strange markings engraved on the back. It wasn't writing – he may not have been able to read every language on their world. But a lifetime of traveling with his caravan had given him a chance to become familiar with every language. He'd never seen anything like this; it looked like little a cluster of random lines.

He bit it gently raising his eyebrows as it gave slightly, so it really was gold. It was beautiful and the lion engraved on the front was a miniature work of art, he could see why his son had wanted to sell it. It would likely fetch a rather nice price, but only if they sold it in one of the larger cities, maybe the capital of one of the nations their caravan passed through. Still it belonged to the young man and his son had no right to sell it. They were honor bound to help strangers in need. He glanced down at the boys clothing it was plain, very light brown almost sand in color with a tattered reversible velvet and wool cloak in a light tan. The cuffs and collar of his shirt were a deep midnight black with silver wire embroidery. The collar and hem of his cloak matched, soft black sued laces hung from matching silver clasps. The clothing itself was simple but the cut and the quality of the tattered fabrics told him this young man was wealthy. At the very least someone was going to miss him.

With a sigh he slipped his nail between the two pieces of gold and flipped the little piece of jewelry open. Two images had been engraved into the inside of the jewelry. On one side the image was of two men, he recognized the smaller of the two men as their visitor. The second image was of a small child.

Nothing to help them identify the young man, but hopefully they wouldn't need to.

OCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOC

Yozak held Ayden to his chest and leaned heavily against Gwendal, the other man supported him quietly, as he tried desperately not to break down crying again. They were burying Conrart today, despite the fact that there was no body to bury. He still couldn't believe that Conrart was dead. Part of him knew that the likely hood of Conrart surviving the fall and then the river – well … it wasn't good. But another part of him flat out refused to believe that Conrart was dead. His heart told him differently, despite logic.

"Papa?" Ayden asked quietly. "When's mama coming home?"

Yozak swallowed, "he's not baby," he whispered sadly not wanting to give his little boy false hope even if he personally was clinging to it like a life line. But how did one explain a parent's death to someone so young?

He felt Gwendal squeeze his shoulder gently in reassurance.

OCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOC

Maria smiled at her patient as the young man finally rejoined the land of the living after three weeks in a coma. The young man glanced around and she felt shock rush through her. A demon the boy was a demon.

"Where am i?" he asked softly.

She forced down her shock, "you are in my wagon, I'm this caravan's healer and we found you in the river about three weeks ago. Can you tell me who you are honey?"

The boy blinked, brown silver flecked eyes, and seemed to consider that. "I – I'm, Shinou, who am I? Why can't I remember?"

Maria gave the boy's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "From the looks of it you had a very nasty accident. You cracked your skull; frankly I'm glad you don't seem to have addled your wits much. We'll figure out something. I'm going to go get Milo; he'll decide what to do. You wait here."

It didn't take her long to find her son. Milo was exactly where she thought he'd be sitting around the men's fire, eating and talking with the rest of the caravan's men. She nodded to the men respectfully as she approached, though her station both as their healer and as their leader's mother and an elder to boot made the action unnecessary. The men fell silent and inclined their heads in respect in return.

"The boy's awake," she said softly.

Milo set his plate of stew down and rose to his feet, "so who is he?" he asked softly.

Maria sighed, "He doesn't know, he must have lost some of his memories when he cracked his skull."

"I see," Milo replied mildly, "well that does pose a problem."

OCOCOCOCOCOCOCOC

Milo smiled kindly at the young man, who still bore more of a resemblance to a mummy then a person, and handed him his necklace. "This is yours maybe it will help you remember something."

The boy took it and looked at it for a few minutes, gently touching the engraved mini portraits on the inside. "I wish I knew who they were." He confessed sadly before closing the odd necklace. "They are so familiar it almost hurts." He ran his fingers over the lion engraved on the top cover. "It's all so familiar."

Maria sighed, "This is yours as well." She said gently handing him a slim platinum ring.

The boy looked at it for a moment before absently slipping it onto his left ring finger. It slid easily into place covering the remnants of an old tan line. With a sigh the boy flipped the necklace over and gazed down at the odd etchings.

"I know those are meaningless, they must have happened while you fell." He said gently.

The boy shook his head, "it says, 'happy anniversary'.

Milo smiled, "for now just concentrate on getting better." He said gently. "Then will work on finding out where you belong, and find something for you to do around here until we do. However until we find out who you are you're going to need a name. I can't just go around calling you boy. So until we find out who you are, you'll be Erik."

Erik nodded. "Thank you sir," He replied quietly; "for everything."

A.N

*A Horse's Trapper or Caparison is a covering, of cloth or leather used in medieval times and normally displayed the knight's coat of arms, it was a part of the horses barding or armor that was usually worn during battles or tournaments. They were made in two halves that met at the saddle so that it does not impede the horse's movement or cause a friction burn. It came in two types one that covered the horses head and one that stopped at the chest more like an elaborate blanket.

*1 Kaze no dansā means wind dancer

coronets*2- a marking on the legs of a horse where the white is just above the hoof and no more than an inch high.

Again this chapter is being posted from moved from an older account and I have not really bothered to do more then move it and edit it a bit. It’s from 2011 so be nice.

**Original text**

Contribute a better translation

 


	2. In Darkest Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N  
> Well were to begin? Firstly I am sorry about the wait real life got in the way and the next thing I knew it was like 3 years later and I still hadn’t gotten back to this story. So I would like to apologize for that. I am back now. It may be a little slow but I should begin updating everything regularly now. So here is the next part of the Oh Crap saga. Read and review please

Maria handled the reins of the large Vanners that pulled her wagon with a deftness that came with long years of practice. Her thoughts on the young man who occupied one of her spare beds. She liked Erik, there was something about him that was hard not to like. Even if she couldn’t – quite – put her finger on it. Still, she was worried about the Boy. She didn’t like the look in his eyes. His smile never reached his eyes, and she often caught him staring into space. Just as often, it was out the door or window of her wagon. She found him gazing down at the little locket he’d been found with almost every night, a mixture of profound loss and longing on his normally passive face.

She’d also found him curled up in the corner of his cot, back straight, picking at the roughly spun fabric of his shirt. She wished she could give him something better, the clothing he’d been found in marked him as being from a well off, if not noble family. He couldn’t be comfortable in clothing that was poor quality and rough, even by the standards of nomads. Yet, he never said a word about his discomfort, to the point that she was beginning to suspect that the action wasn’t one of discomfort, but rather a habit born from a fastidious nature. From his bearing and demeanor she suspected he was both an officer and a gentleman. Which led her to suspect that the habit was ingrained from military dress codes and the result of the seamstress’s lack of skill with a needle. However, since Philip was the one who’d saved the boy’s life, Erik was his responsibility; and would be until he either left, married into the caravan. As such she Philip’s decisions were law as far as Erik was concerned.

The boy was recovering from his adventure, but there was little she could do about his ankle. The severity of his other injuries, had relegated it the last of their worries in the fight for his life. By the time she’d been able to get to it. It had already started to set wrong, and despite trying there had been little she could do to fix it. One of the large city healers could possibly do something for it, but it was firmly beyond her ability to fix. Had he belonged to the Caravan, they would have funded an examination to see what could be done as soon as they reached the next large city. But he was not of the caravan and the decision fell to Philip, and the boy was being obstinate about it. He’d taken one look at the limb and pronounced Erik a cripple and a drain upon the clan. As a result the clothing Philip had brought for Erik to wear was little more than rags and thread bear to boot.

It had taken hours of arguing but she had finally convinced her grandson to at least provide the boy with proper clothing. However, even that had a cost. Philip was animate that because Erik could never repay his family through labor the cost of clothing, bedding, food and medical care would have to come from somewhere. Philip planned to sell the boy’s original clothing when they came to the capital city and use the funds to provide functional clothing and bedding. Stating that he would use any excess to fund an examination by an out clan healer.

She didn’t like it, but she could see her grandson’s point and Milo had ruled it an understandable request. The cloak’s hem was ruined but Philip should still be able to get a good deal for it and the rest of the clothing. Particularly if he took the time to remove the ebony velvet that decorated the yoke, collar and hem. That and the silver wire embroidery would fetch a pretty penny if sold separately. The Boy’s single remaining knee length riding boot, was ebony leather of the highest quality and could easily be crafted into something new. Again Philip should be able to get a silvers more out of it provided he removed the silver embroidery around the cuff and shaft, hell if the boy was smart he’d remove the eyelets as well. It would likely go a long way towards providing for Erik if Philip handled it wisely.

Hours later, after setting up camp for the night she returned to her wagon to find the boy with his nose buried in one of her books. A small gasp escaped her at the sight. For several reasons, the first being that, while she’d left the tomb within reach that morning, it was rather heavy, and given the state of his injuries she was surprised he’d even attempted to lift it. Beyond that, the majority of her surprise stemmed from cultural issues. The men of her caravan were literate, however, none of them would ever lower themselves enough to pick up a book, particularly not one on herbal remedies. Not when there were other things they could do. She’d left him with a couple of small things the young men of the caravan used to keep themselves entertained when forced to endure an extended stay in her company. They all lay where she’d left them, there placement suggesting that he had no idea what to make of them.

“I’m sorry.” He said softly, turning to look at her. “I didn’t mean to intrude, but I’m afraid I got bored.

She offered him a small smile, “It’s quite alright, I was merely surprised you could read it, child. As well as by the fact that you hadn’t perished of boredom. I’m afraid that old thing isn’t very interesting.”

He returned her smile, before rubbing the bridge of his nose in a manner that suggested his eyes hurt. “On the contrary, I find it to be quite fascinating. When I get home I will have to ask…someone to teach me more.”

OCOCOCOCOCOCOCOC

Maria hummed, softly to herself as she mixed powdered herbs into the porridge that would soon become Erik’s morning meal. The young man was, still in rather bad condition; and due to how long he’d been unconscious, he still wasn’t eating large meals, or anything truly solid. It was simply easier to mix the many medications she was giving him into the porridge anyway, and so far the boy didn’t seem to mind. Although the look on his face when she’d handed him the first bowl full had been priceless. He’d visibly choked in surprise and distaste at the bitter taste of the medication that had laced the broth she’d first given him; but had said nothing of the flavor. He’d finished his bowl without a single complaint, and actually gone so far as complimented her cooking.

She’d suppressed a laugh, at his rather obvious display of manners, not wishing to bruise his obvious pride and dignity. If nothing else she would say this for the boy, whoever he was his mother had raised him well. She offered him a smile and handed him the wooden bowl.

“Thank you,” he said in a soft tone and shifted into a more comfortable position and began to eat.

She nodded and returned to her usual morning tasks. She generally ate along with the people who prepared the morning meal, well before the rest of the caravan was even awake. Thus providing her with more time to see to her patients, and to prepare the herbs, poultices, tinctures and the other various things she had to do as a part of her trade. At the moment she was working on grinding several types of dried herbs down into fine powders.

“Maria?” Erik’s voice was soft and tentative.

She looked up, to find him watching her with intense brown eyes. “What is it child?”

“What is in this?” he enquired, gesturing at the bowl.

Her smile was sad and her tone mild when she replied “its porridge dear.”

To her surprise, Erik laughed. It was deeper then she expected from such a slight man. “I remember that much,” he admitted in a sad tone that contained an absurd amount of pride at that one simple fact. “What I meant was what is in it?”

Maria blinked, “in terms of what is it made of? Or are you referring to the medicine you’re taking?”

“The latter, not the former.” Erik replied.

“There is a mixture of poppy and willow bark, feverfew, chamomile, lavender, rosemary, comfrey, Calendula, hawthorn, Rosehips, oatstraw, horsetail, nettles, rosemary, ginger, cardamom, Dandelion leaf, raspberry, and peppermint, in that dear.”

Erik was silent for a few minutes before enquiring “poppy,” in a tentative tone.

“I am using a mixture of herbs on you. It seems willow bark alone is not enough to handle the amount of pain you’re in.” she paused, before adding, “How is your vision? I’ve noticed you’ve been squinting at things and rubbing your eyes.”

He sighed, “It’s a little hard to read.” He confessed after a few minutes of silence.

“Still having headaches?”

He looked down, shoulders sagging and nodded.

“We’ll find a way to fix that.” She assured him. She didn’t want to worry the boy, but his near constant headaches were beginning to alarm her. The headaches were centered in a single spot on the boy’s head, near the base of his skull. To make matters worse, they started in a single place, but radiated outwards. They also came on suddenly and progressed rapidly, peaking within 60 seconds and had been known to last up to a week. They were debilitating, leaving the poor boy nauseous, dizzy and sensitive to both light and sound.*[i]

“Can I help you with that?” he enquired after a moment’s silence.

She blinked and wondered again about the culture the boy had been raised in. Most of the Caravan’s men tended to treat women as inferior. She was the exception to that convention by the nature of being both the Caravan head’s mother and the Clan’s healer. Erik treated her like an equal, and did so without so much as a second thought.

She considered his request for a moment before getting up and grabbing a second mortar and pestle. He was still largely immobile thanks to his various injuries. He was capable of sitting up when supported by pillows, but it would be impossible to move him to a table, his injuries were to sever. She set the supplies down and propped the boy up, so that he was a bit more secure. It took a bit of work to figure out a secure way to hold the mortar so the boy didn’t hurt himself, but in the end they settled for having the boy grip the stone tool with his thighs. It was not a difficult task to teach him how to use the mortar and pestle, though it was a comical sight. Muddling didn’t seem to faze him at all, though the high pitched alarmed sound that escaped his lips when she showed him the bashing movement used to break up larger chunks was amusing.

OCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOC

Maria sighed when Daniel handed her the abandoned puppy. Tiny for his breed, he was one of a litter of seventeen. Under normal circumstances, the caravan raised an abandoned pup, however, this pup was the youngest and smallest of five litters of similar size. His mother had abandoned him due to a lack of milk. It was unfortunate but they just couldn’t justify the time required to hand raise this little pup. Had he been born any other year there would have been someone available to bottle feed the little guy, but things being what they were… she was going to mix a potion with a bit of milk, it was kinder then letting the little thing waste away from hunger.

She entered her wagon, puppy in hand to find Erik squinting up at the ceiling above his bed. The book on medical herbs he’d been reading when she left, lay discarded on the floor. Judging from the state of his bedding, she suspected that he had dropped it and been unable to retrieve it himself. Not surprising given his injuries. She stifled a giggle, somehow she got the impression that he was usually far to dignified to actually pout. However, there was no other word for the expression on his face, not when he was collapsed next to the pillows that had earlier propped him up. She set the puppy down on the bed next to him, watching with something akin to sadness as the little ball of orange fluff snuggled into his side. She sighed softly at the unfair hand fate had dealt both the boy and the puppy before fluffing Erik’s pillows and helping him to lean back against them with the brisk efficiency of long practice. That done she stooped and picked up the heavy book placing it next to the young man, who seemed more interested in the small dog at his side.

The idea struck her then, a chance to make two lives just a little bit better. “Shame,” she said as she briskly poured a small quantity of milk into an old wineskin. “About the dog, I mean.”

Erik glanced up at her. “What’s wrong with the little one?” he asked softly.

She suppressed a smile at his interest. “Nothing,” she replied, carefully watching her tone. She suspected Erik would not appreciate her medaling. “It’s the bitch’s first litter, and she doesn’t have enough milk for all of her pups. She’s abandoned this one.”

Erik closed his eyes, “poor little thing,” he whispered. “A mother should never abandon her children. Are you going to hand raise him?” he enquired nodding to the wineskin of goat’s milk in her hand.

She sighed, “Under normal circumstances, but we have too many puppies this year, and no one has the time to hand raise this one.” That wasn’t really the problem, but it was close enough that it didn’t really matter.

Caravan dogs belonged to everyone and no one. They ate what they hunted and scraps from caravan meals. They protected the caravan and lived among them, sharing the warmth of the fire and residing under the wagons for shelter. The only true concession the caravan made to the dogs was to share their food in the hard weather, and to transport the pregnant bitches and young pups in an open supply wagon. They didn’t want the dogs bonding with anyone in particular because camp dogs could be dangerous when bonded to a particular person. They would lay down their lives for that person.

Dering her mother’s youth, a dog had bonded tightly to a child with an abusive step-father, and torn the man’s throat out trying to protect the girl. There had been little the caravan had been able to do to stop it. Caravan dogs were large and males typically reached 120-130 pounds. Powerful, independent, dominant and fiercely protective of anything they saw as their own, they would kill anything they saw as a threat. To prevent this when they hand reared the occasional pup they rotated who fed them so that the dog would not bond with any one person.

Erik gazed up at her out of his fathomless silver flecked brown eyes, and shifted the puppy closer to his hip. “I have the time,” he offered.

She smiled at him, “That is a great idea.” She replied, handing him the wineskin.

Erik raised an eyebrow as he took the milk from her. “You planned this.” He accused in a mild tone, lifting the small puppy so that he could feed it.

“Can you blame me?” she asked, marveling at the gentle and practiced manner he held the small little creature. Her heart broke at the sight and she wondered, not for the first time if somewhere a child was missing their father.

“No, I suppose I can’t.” Erik replied, as he gazed down at the small bundle of fur in his arms.

Maria smiled, “what are you going to call him?” she enquired after a moment’s hesitation. Most of the Caravan dogs were unnamed, but she doubted this dog would ever belong to the caravan, and she knew that should the time come when the boy found his way home there would be nothing they could do to stop the dog from following.

He gazed down at the dog for a moment running his fingers through the animal’s downy orange hair, tears formed in the corner of his eyes and he blinked them away. “Yozak,” he replied in a soft, lost and heartbroken tone.

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Yuri sat on his mother’s sofa head bowed, as he mourned the recent passing of his much beloved Godfather. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to comfort Conrad’s family, his family. Wolfram blamed himself, citing the fact that Conrart would never have been dressed in such a manor if he hadn’t demanded it of him. Yuri had tried everything he could think of to reassure the other man that it was not his fault. Conrart’s foot had gotten stuck in the stirrup. It could have happened to anyone, at any time. Wolfram had then pointed out the fact that Conrart was a strong swimmer, and never would have drowned if it weren’t for his damned heavy cloak, an article of clothing his normal habits saw him forgoing in favor of more practical military clothing. Yuri had reminded him in as gentle a manner possible that they didn’t even know if Conrad had been alive when he’d hit the water.

In the end he’d resorted to taking Wolfram away from everything that reminded Wolfram of his “little big brother” and their often tremulous relationship. His father was with Wolfram. Just talking, and helping the younger man to work through his emotions. He glanced up as a small cup of sake appeared under his nose, and met Shori’s concerned gaze.

“Mother called me,” the Earth’s Demon King informed him in a mild tone. “She said you needed me.”

Yuri reached out and took the alcohol downing the little cup in one go, not even tasting it. “Conrad’s dead.” He said after a second staring at the little cup like it held the answers to the universe.

Shori stiffened and dropped onto the sofa beside him. “Lord Weller and I never saw eye to eye on anything.” He stated after a moment. “Accept perhaps one thing, you. If he died keeping you safe, he would not have regretted it.”

“It was an accident. A stupid, needless, accident!” Yuri raged, he rose to his feet and flung the delicate little cup at the far wall, taking immense pleasure in the sound it made as it shattered against the far wall. “He shouldn’t have been riding that… that damn worthless beast in the first place. I have never seen such a stupid animal. It all but threw them both off that cliff.” He stopped gasping for breath, tears running down the sides of his face. “We saw it happen, knew it was going to happen but none of us could do anything before it was too late. Shinou, Shori, he must have been terrified. He was always so brave. Hell, he faced everything with his head held high, and all I can remember when I try to think of him is the look of shock and alarm on his face as the ground gave way. Every time I close my eyes, I – Shori I can still hear him scream. I don’t think I am ever going to forget that sound. “

He jumped when Shori’s hand landed on his shoulder, in a light comforting squeeze. “I don’t think the sense of loss will ever go away.” He said, his tone gentle and full of compassion. “It will lessen, but you will never stop missing Conrad. In time you will be able to look back with fond memories. Conrad had a son, yes?”

Yuri inclined his head.

“Then focus on that. Keep your memories of Conrart alive so that you can share them with his child.”

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Yozak started awake when Ayden scrambled into bed with him. The small boy shivered as he pressed himself closer to his chest in search of comfort more than warmth. Yozak wrapped his arm around his son’s slim form and cradled his child in an embrace that was as desperate as it was comforting. It was odd how much the boy’s mannerisms reminded him of his mother. Conrart had always gotten chilled easily, being entirely to fine boned and slender with a body that burned through food at such a fast rate that it was actually difficult for him to gain weight. He’d often tucked himself against Yozak’s chest seeking comfort after a nigh terror when they had been small boys. Everything about Ayden’s small frame reminded Yozak of his mother, even the way the boy tucked himself into a position that should have been painful, nose tucked under his shoulder and knees drawn up so tight that his body bowed with the unnatural flexibility of youth. Even the cold feet were a familiar and painful reminder of what they had both lost.

Ayden had often crawled into bed with them, sandwiching himself between the comforting bulk of both of his parent’s warm bodies. Shielded from the monsters lurking in the dark by two people who would happily sacrifice themselves upon the blade of his protection. Conrart had been one of the strong and stable pillars that Ayden’s world had been built around, and Yozak was at a loss. He didn’t know how to help his son deal with that loss. He vaguely remembered helping Conrart through Dan Hiri’s loss, he remembered his own feelings of overwhelming grief, of loss, of hopeless bewilderment and vulnerability at the loss of his own mother so many decades ago. However, he had no idea how to go about fixing this for his son. Conrart was as much a pillar of strength and courage for him as he was for their son. Conrart had existed at the center of Yozak’s world since he’d ridden into Yozak’s life all those years ago, a little prince upon a white (technically dun) pony.

_How was he supposed to go on without him?_

“Papa? Member when we used to do this with mama?” Ayden asked already more than half asleep.

Yozak looked down at his son’s crown of chestnut hair and smiled, “Yes little one, I do.” He replied in a gentle tone, ruffling the small boy’s hair.

Ayden yawned and snuggled closer, “When’s mama coming back?”

Yozak froze, he didn’t want to believe Conrart was dead, was planning to go out and search for Conrart again as soon as he got the chance, he secretly had the nation’s top spies searching even now. But was it right to give his son false hope? He wasn’t sure, but at the same time it seemed worse to let the child believe his mother was dead, when there was no proof and he didn’t believe it himself.

“I don’t know, honey.” He confessed after a moment of indecision. His heart broke as Ayden’s face fell.

“Doesn’t mama love us anymore?” the boy whimpered in a tone so soft, Yozak almost hadn’t heard him.

Yozak closed his eyes against the heart rending emotional pain that welled up at that question. “Ayden,” he said, in a tone that was gentle but firm. “Listen to me. Your mother loves you. That will never change. He’s not coming home because he cannot. I don’t know when or if he ever will be able to come home. What I do know is that if there is any way for him to come home he will find it.” He paused, before adding, “And I promise you, I won’t stop looking until I know for certain that there is no hope.”

Heart breaking, he held his little boy as the small child shed tears of grief for a loss he was still too young to understand. Tears streamed down his own cheeks and he fought not to give way to the anger that burned in his soul at the senseless loss. He hadn’t wanted this for his child, he had lost both of his parents at a young age, had stood beside his best friend when the man had lost his own father and weathered the grief that came with the loss. The last thing he wanted was for his son to live through a similar tragedy. This was a pain Ayden should never have known, not when both of his parent’s shared his extended lifespan.

His son’s breathing finally evened out in sleep and Yozak made a solemn vow into the slumbering child’s hair as he cradled him close to his chest. He would not put himself at risk again, Ayden needed at least one parent. He’d lost his mother, Yozak was not going to place his son at risk of becoming an orphan if he could prevent it. As for Conrart, when he found his husband - and he would, one way or another – he was going to ensure Conrart was out of harm’s way as well.

He was going to find his husband, and when he did he would protect his family from any other threat that might appear. He didn’t care if he had to wrap them in cotton batting to do it.

If nothing else the look on Conrart’s face would make the extreme reaction worth pursuing.

 

 

[i] if you have headaches that are anything like this please see a doctor.

A Vanier, is a type of horse breed to pull wagons


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